


Girl Friday

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, References to Shakespeare, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-22
Updated: 2004-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cigarettes, make-up and scripts. A few days in the life of Cordelia Chase: Future Hollywood Starlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Friday

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 1x17 "Eternity." 
> 
> Beta by leni.

Angel sat on the rooftop ledge of the building as the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night. Of course, lying tied down wasn't exactly a one-way ticket to dirtyclothesville, but jeeze. Gross much? 

"Why aren't you smoking?" she asked.

"Not enough sun left. Still beautiful though, isn't it?" Angel stared moodily at the glowy skyline.

"Totally breath taking," Cordy lied tartly. "I meant, why do you only smoke when you're Angelus? It's not like you're some how more cancer prone with a soul."

She could have sworn he rolled his eyes at her. Must have been residual Angelus-ness from the stupid drugs that crappy actress had given him. Angel did *not* roll his eyes. 

"Smoking is bad."

"Not for someone dead."

"Traditionally the evil people, the villains, smoke. Angelus likes to project a certain image." And now he wouldn't meet her gaze. Clearly, he thought this was cool too. How sad.

"Wow that's ... really lame. I'm way unimpressed with him now." Angelus soo didn't scare her. Not that she would ever see him again, because she and Wes had made a pact that Angel wasn't getting near any booty. Or drugs.

"Heh." What the hell was with him?

"So, what, he thinks it makes him scary-- er, scarier? Cause, really, insecure much?"

"I'll be sure not to pass that along. Wouldn't want him having any more reasons to kill you."

There was an awkward silence. Offering not to share ammo with someone hellbent on your death wasn't exactly the best conversation piece.

* * *

Angel stared at her vanity table, with all its carefully arranged cosmetics.

"That's a really, um, nice color." He prodded a tube of lipstick. That still had a cap on.

"Angel."

He pulled the cap off, seriously looking at it, like it was a clue in some case.

"What? It is. It's all sparkly, and ... " he sniffed it, recoiling as he did so. "Smells ... good?"

Cordelia slammed the lid back on it, and but it in the empty spot in the lipstick tray.

"If you weren't serious about helping pick out make up for this date you should've said so. This is really important. This could be my big break. Paul knows Aaron Spelling!"

Angel stared blankly at her. So pop culture retarded. He was worse than Giles and Wesley put together sometimes.

"He's only, like, the Woody Allen of TV, minus the scandals and stuff."

He blinked at her. "Sorry. I'm not, this, this isn't my thing. I fight evil demons and save damsels in distress, not dress them." He fiddled with her Birks diamond necklace that Kevin had bought her before the Sophomore Spring Fling. "This - " He waved it about, indicating her dressing table, the bed covered in dresses and shoes and purses.

Cordelia lunged and snatched it from him. "Be careful with that! It's worth more than your car!" She locked it into her jewelry box, which tinkled the theme to Swan Lake when she opened it.

Angel looked over the selection again. She could see him adding up the prices in his head. She had a lot of stuff, still. Used products like this wouldn't be repossessed, cause they were all gross and used and worthless. Angel's eyes bugged out slightly before he pulled a flip case of shimmery green eye shadow out of the alphabetized stand.

"This one is pretty." Angel held it up against her face. "It brings out your eyes."

She stared into the mirror, watching the make up holder move on its own back to the shelf. Cordelia smiled to herself.

"Thanks."

Angel gave her a funny look as he moved away, to the chair next to her bed. There was a huge fluffy stuffed bear on the chair. He put it in his lap, and it was Cordelia's turn to bug her eyes out. He just couldn't do normal. It came off so creepy.

"Good thing you aren't a damsel in distress, or I'd have to interrogate - I mean talk to - this guy. Make sure he's good enough for you."

Cordelia rolled her eyes hugely as she began applying lipstick.

"That's Wes' job. You're waaaay too scary to let near potential boyfriends. I'd never see any of them again."

She could feel Angel smirking behind her, even if she couldn't see him in the mirror.

* * *

Cordelia sat at her desk. Her feet, in lovely new shoes, were propped against the windowsill. She had Cosmo open. The light on the message machine blinked.

Angel wandered out of the elevator. "What's this case look like?"

She laid the Cosmo carefully on her lap, giving him a disdainful look that was obviously meant to communicate, "I'm doing a super important test here, go away vile man." But all that hair seemed to protect Angel from the obvious.

Sighing extravagantly, Cordelia got up and pulled a sheet of paper out of the in box. She handed it to him. "False alert. No ghosts, just really shoddy construction."

"Damn."

He looked it over, then filed it, spending more time than was necessary in Cordelia's opinion. The system wasn't that hard.

Cordelia pulled a script out from under the Cosmo.

"I thought maybe, you could run lines with me, or something. Now that your night is free. I'd get Wes to, but he went all Shakespeare, and that *so* doesn't work for this play."

Angel took it from her. He stared at the title for a second, then just *stared* at her, like she'd grown a second head or something.

"Cordelia, this is 'The Tempest'."

He started flipping through it.

"Exactly! It's this gritty new cop show on HBO, that's like L&O - Law & Order - meets Survivor, where it's set on this island -- "

"Cordelia."

" -- And the storms are, like, a metaphor for his rage problems and stuff."

"Cordelia!"

"What?!"

"This 'The Tempest' - a Shakespeare play."

Silence reigned in the offices of Angel Investigations.

"Oh ... that's not what the description they sent me said. Why would HBO do a production of Shakespeare?"

She took the script back from him, looking petulant.

"Will you still help me?"

Angel nodded, rubbing his hair and looking all caffeine deprived.

"Is there coffee?"

Wesley came in from the inner office, a huge dusty book in his hands.

"If you like 'roasted plastic flavor' there is."

Angel walked past him into the semi-darkness of the office, shaking his bed head hair.

"Wes, don't be so mean. You can't use the coffee machine either."

Wesley slammed the book back into its shelf.

"Mean? You're the one who called my acting outdated and unnecessarily showy. I'll have you know I spent 4 summers at a Shakespeare camp. I'd do a damn fine job as anyone from 'The Tempest'."

"Don't be such a baby."

"I'm not the one acting like a child."

"Maybe I _am_ acting like a child, but you're acting like a baby!"

"Guys!"


End file.
